


Bitter Beans and Bickering Idiots

by donnarafiki



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Don't copy to another site, Down and Out Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, M/M, Or at least the start of getting together, Pre-Slash, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:28:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21772210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donnarafiki/pseuds/donnarafiki
Summary: Several years after the war, everything has changed. Harry runs a coffee shop, Draco turned into an overworked student, and old friendships have slowly worn down to loneliness.There's only one thing that has stayed the same; Harry and Draco bicker no matter where they go, or when they meet. And that's exactly how it should be.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 24
Kudos: 278
Collections: Harry/Draco Owlpost 2019





	Bitter Beans and Bickering Idiots

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Candamira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candamira/gifts).



> I hope I did your wishes justice and that you enjoy your fic, Candamira! 
> 
> Big thanks to my beta's T, S, A and D
> 
> Please do not copy this to another site

“Ma’am? We’re about to-, oh.” It wasn’t a ma’am. It wasn’t even a stranger. “Malfoy? What are you doing here?” 

The look he got in reply to his question was so exhausted, Harry was almost tempted to yawn himself. Malfoy could barely keep his eyes open, and didn’t seem surprised at all to see Harry there. He made no move to say anything though, which gave Harry some time for a quick once over. 

Malfoy looked Muggle, unsurprising since Harry’s shop was in a muggle area, but baffling because it was _Malfoy_. Last time he’d seen him, Draco had just been sentenced to four years of house arrest for his war crimes. 

“Looking for some peace and quiet, which I apparently won’t get here.” Malfoy glared at him, a look made a bit less impressive by the ginormous bags under his eyes. Being a coffee shop owner meant he saw his fair share of exhaustion, not to mention all the experience he’d had with Hermione, but this was taking it to the next level. 

“Want another cup of coffee then?” Harry gestured at the empty mug on the table, trying to remain professional. He would rather ask Malfoy a million different questions, like why he was so tired, why he came to look for peace and quiet _here_ , while he apparently knew Harry owned this shop, judging by his reaction to his presence. But he knew better than to question someone as tired as Malfoy. Hermione would have bitten his head off before he’d opened his mouth. 

Malfoy frowned. “I thought you were closing shop.”

That threw him off. The Malfoy Harry knew would have demanded the shop stayed open just for him. _Every hour is opening hour for a Malfoy_ , or some entitled rubbish like that. Only when Malfoy made a move to yawn again did Harry snap out of it and answer his question, albeit a tad dishonestly. 

“I was, but I can’t let my customers walk out looking dead on their feet. It would be bad for business.”

Two blond eyebrows shot up. “Who’d have thought, Harry Potter running a coffee shop with proper service.”

“No more surprising than you wearing muggle jeans, with holes in them no less.”

“I ripped them, it happens.” Malfoy snapped, the tentative friendly ambiance gone within a second. Malfoy himself looked like he wanted to follow the ambiance right out the door with matching speed, grabbing his coat and the notebook he fell asleep on. “We didn’t all graduate with a million opportunities presenting itself to live our best life, _Potter_. And you can keep the coffee. It was average at best, definitely not good enough to have to see your face each time I drink it.” 

“What? Malfoy, wait!” But somehow, despite being exhausted, Malfoy was out the door before Harry could stop him. He’d have chased the guy, but that would’ve left his shop unattended and he wasn’t that obsessed with the blond anymore. 

Slightly stunned, he watched the man vanish into the crowd outside, soon disappearing from sight. He had a feeling Hermione might want to bite his head off again soon. Or pull her hair out. Or hit him with a rather large stick.

* * *

“Again! You’re obsessing over that git _again_?” Ron dropped his head on the table with a loud thud. “Unbelievable. After two years, _two years_ of your stalking and pining and nagging about that arse trumpet after the war, - and let’s not forget about sixth year!- you’re bringing the whole nightmare _back_?”

His complaints were muffled against the wood, but Harry still heard them for the bullshit they were. 

“I did not stalk him! And I do _not_ pine, thank you very much. And I didn’t nag you.” That last remark got him a death glare from Hermione so strong he physically cowered away. “Okay, maybe I nagged a little. But the ministry was being unreasonable! You can’t just lock a teenager away in a house of nightmares for four years after basically admitting that he’d never voluntarily committed a crime. That’s not fair.”

“And not your responsibility, Harry.” Hermione’s eyes softened, though she still didn’t seem happy about the current topic of conversation. 

“Well then, whose responsibility is it? Not the Ministry, because they clearly don’t care. Not Hogwarts, because they let him starve in sixth year without lifting a bloody finger, and Dumbledore _knew_ he was forced to choose between murdering him or having him and his family killed and never seriously tried to help him. So whose responsibility is it then? His dead father maybe? Or his mother who’s still exiled to France? Because I don’t see anyone else giving a damn.”

“Harry…”

“No don’t you _Harry_ me! It’s true and you know it. Malfoy was a dick alright, but that’s not a crime, and no reason for Hogwarts or the Ministry to fail him like they did.” 

“Even so, he’s out now. You said he was in your shop, alive and well, so he-,”

“I said he looked famished and exhausted, I never said alive and well,” he snapped, pissed that his friends didn’t have his back. “Look, all I want is for you two to ask around to see if anyone knows how to contact him. He left a book in my shop, and I’d like to know that he didn’t faint somewhere or fall in front of a tube in the underground, alright?”

“Alright Harry, we’ll ask.” Hermione reached out to him and squeezed his arm. “But try not to let this consume you, okay? You have a job you love now, there’s no need to try and ignore all the problems you have in life by obsessing over him.”

Harry glared at her, then pouted, then turned to stare at the table. He didn’t like to be confronted with his own feelings and past like that. “I’m not going to obsess over him, ‘Moine. He left a book and I want to give it back to him, and I’m interested in how he’s doing because I know what it feels like when no one’s looking out for you.”

“I know, Harry.” Hermione squeezed his arm again, her eyes shining with a mix of understanding and pity. He knew his friends still felt bad for the small neglected kid he once was and he hated it. They weren’t to blame and it was in the past. He’d rather they focused on people who were being mistreated _now_ , like Malfoy was. 

“I can’t imagine Malfoy ever taking the tube,” Ron said jokingly when no one else made a move to break the heavy silence. “When I first went to the underground with Neville he just sat down on a bench and expected it to move!”

After that, the subject was dropped with the aid of a glare from Hermione. She wouldn’t let him ruin their dinner together with talk about Malfoy. Harry didn’t agree with her that talking about Malfoy would ruin their dinner, but he’d given up on that one the last time he obsessed–, nay, _expressed his concerns_ about Malfoy. They’d agreed to help him get back in touch, and that was really all that mattered.

* * *

“Luna? I haven’t seen you here in a while. I thought you didn’t like the city?”

“Oh, the city is very likable, Harry. That’s the problem. The countryside needs more looking after.” Luna smiled at him and hopped onto the counter. “You want to look after someone too, Ginny told me. He’s in quite a worse state than the countryside, I found .”

Harry blinked at her, his brain taking its sweet time to understand who Luna was talking about. He scolded himself when the knut dropped. 

“You know how to get in touch with Malfoy?”

“I don’t know about touching, that’s a very personal question,” Luna mused. “He enjoys my hugs, but he never asks for them. He hasn’t been very brave for himself. Not since the war and the trials.”

Harry has suspected as much, but it still wasn’t fun to hear. Luna could read people better than anyone he knew, even if she was a bit odd about it and didn’t always realise it herself. Ginny had once told him that it was like Luna thought of herself as though she was a single nice lily drifting in a pond, while really she was as complex and beautiful as the entire garden, pond included. Harry had called Ginny a sap, and in turn he’d been shoved off his chair. It had been a good afternoon. 

“He’s really quite sad when he thinks no one is looking,” Luna continued, her eyes studying the grain of the wood she sat on. “Tries to run from it, sometimes. But he’s never fast enough.” 

Suddenly, Luna’s serious gaze was replaced by a big smile. She pulled a piece of paper out of her dungarees pocket and handed it to Harry. “He’d love to get his book back, but you can’t send it to him, he’ll have to fetch it himself. I’m sure you can brew him something to make it worth the trip. You always smell so nice, Harry.”

“Uh, thanks Luna.”

Luna chuckled. “Thank yourself. It’s not my doing.”

And with that, she hopped off the counter and found herself a place to sit. Ginny came in soon after, and in fear of her legendary teasing Harry didn’t bring Malfoy up again. But the note burned in his pocket all day, sometimes feeling like a promise, sometimes like a curse. But there was only one way to find out which one it would be.

* * *

Draco hadn’t been postponing this. He really hadn’t been, with his final exams coming up and Harry bloody Potter having one of his most vital books for a good grade. It would make no sense to postpone, so he hadn’t. There just only happened to be a large enough gap in his planning to see Potter two weeks after the man had reached out to him. 

Though he might be partially responsible for the whole busy schedule thing. He could have kept working as an editor for that potions magazine without starting a degree at a muggle university on the side, but he hadn’t. The menial, low effort spelling and fact-checking drove him mental. He needed a distraction, and this had been the only option he could think of. 

No one else would pay his university bills and the Malfoy vaults had been confiscated by the Ministry. Plus, no one would distract him from his boring job now that he’d lost touch with most of his friends. It turned out friendships did dwindle when one half of the party was only allowed to contact others via owl post, and the party as a whole was deeply traumatised after a war.

And if he studied eight hours a day and worked another six, then there wasn’t much time left to think about how everything had gone to shit. He honestly preferred it that way. 

“Malfoy! I thought I saw something pointy walking around outside,” Potter’s greeting was warm, though his words did not reflect that. Draco declared himself mad once again for ever stepping into this coffee shop in the first place. It had been pure luck when he’d walked past it and saw none other than Potter behind the counter, but he only had himself to blame for still going in after that. 

Draco huffed. “I didn’t know they hired walking, talking bird’s nests as baristas these days.”

Potter just laughed, the git. Draco sent him a glare for his efforts and stalked over to the secluded booth in the corner. The first time he’d come here, he’d only ordered once Potter was in the back, and had sat exactly where he was sitting now. 

Watching Potter go about his business that day had made him feel nostalgic to the bone about his past life. About easier, _magical_ times, before his father fucked everything up. He blamed it on the upcoming Christmas season and promised himself to never come back once he left. Only he did come back. Four times even, before Potter spotted him and he forgot his blasted book. 

After a minute or two Potter joined him in his booth, carrying two perfect Latte Macchiatos in his hands with a slice of cake on the side. The promise of caffeine and sweets was really the only reason he perked up a bit, it had nothing to do with the barista in question. Potter could still drop dead for all he cared.

“I figured you’d like this. I put a double espresso in yours to make up for that coffee I promised you.”

Draco felt his face turn a deep red. He preferred not to think about his little tantrum. In his head he was all grown up, aged by war, society, trauma, the death of his father. The entitled tantrum-throwing child he had once been was long dead and buried. 

Or so he’d thought. 

But Potter had brought back the fight in him, with his stupid comment about his jeans. Suddenly all the old resentment at the ministry, his father, Hogwarts, it all came rushing out and Potter had taken the brunt of it. Hardly his proudest moment. 

“Uh, thank you, Potter,” Draco swallowed thickly and bit his bottom lip. He didn’t know what to do with himself in front of Potter, and it didn’t help that the other man seemed quite a lot more confident than he was. “How did you end up owning a coffee shop, anyway?”

“Murder of the owner,” Potter replied, before quickly adding, “Not that I murdered the owner!”

That made Draco chuckle. Maybe Potter wasn’t as confident as he looked. “Sure you didn’t, Potter.”

Potter rolled his eyes. “Ugh, you’re such a prick.”

“At least I haven’t murdered any coffee shop owners.” Draco greatly enjoyed how worked up Potter got in a matter of seconds, and sipped his coffee as he watched the chaos unfold. It was interesting, sure, to play the intellectual all day, improving other people’s potions work or studying the human brain at university, but it was never _fun_. Not in the same way as teasing Harry Potter was, anyway. 

“I didn’t murder him! He got poisoned by his ex with some potion he nicked off his wizard brother, hence me getting involved. Kinda fell for the ambiance of the shop while working on the case.” 

Draco did nothing to hide his Cheshire cat-like grin. 

“A very normal thing to do, enjoying time spent in a murder cafe.” 

Harry threw a piece of cake at his head. “Stop taking the piss, Malfoy.”

“Stop making it so easy to wind you up, then,” Draco chuckled, and popped the piece of cake into his mouth. “This is high quality free entertainment, Potter. No student worth their brain cells would pass that up.”

Potter’s face went from annoyed to interested. “You’re a student? Is that why you had that neurology book on you the last time we met?”

“No Potter, I read those just for fun.” That sarcastic reply earned him a confused look, which in turn made him roll his eyes. “Yes Potter, that’s why I was reading a neurology book. I have exams just after Christmas.”

“You have exams just after Christmas? But then you can’t relax during the holidays!”

“Ah well, it’s not like I’ve got anywhere to be anyway.”

“Now you just sound sad.”

Draco sent a glare in Potter’s direction and shifted in his seat, preparing himself for another quick departure. He didn’t come here to have everything that sucked in his life pointed out to him. He could do that perfectly fine on his own, thank you very much. 

“You could celebrate Christmas with us? I mean, if you’re not too busy with your exams. Because if you’re swamped with work then it must be harder to find someone to spend the holidays with. That’s the sad part, how can anyone invite you over if you’re busy all the time?”

“Oh, stop trying to dig yourself out of a hole, Potter. It’s not your strong suit.” Draco shook his head, balling up his frustration at his life and filing it away for later. It technically wasn’t Potter’s fault that he was lonely, even if the man did keep making him painfully aware of the fact. He ignored Potter’s invitation, it probably wasn’t sincere anyway. “I know why I’m alone during the holidays and it’s not because I’m busy with exams.”

Potter was taken aback by his honesty, and looked even sadder than Draco felt. It was rather strange, given that they’d only just seen each other again after nearly seven years. There was no reason for Potter to be so invested in his well being. Draco himself didn’t care that much, not even on good days. 

Potter caught his gaze, eyes looking horribly sincere. “No. It’s because the Ministry was unfair to you and Hogwarts failed you when it mattered the most.”

Out of all the things Draco could have expected Harry to say, this one hadn’t been on the list. It might have been something that passed through his mind in the early days, back when being locked away in the Manor became too much, when he’d still had enough of an attitude to feel sorry for himself. 

But he’d learnt long ago that he’d been a horrible person, that he couldn’t blame things on his parents, and that he should and _would_ spend the rest of his life trying to make up for past mistakes, trying to become someone else, someone better. There was a reason why he hadn’t joined his mother in France, started a Potion’s degree, and left everything behind. He had to prove to himself more than anyone else, that he could change, that he could be a good person even after royally fucking up. 

He’d brought this fate onto himself, and he’d made peace with it. And now Potter had to show up in his life and muck it all up. 

It was all he could do to stare, _gape_ at Potter, as the implications of his words began to sink in. “You… I don’t-, _I_ fucked up.”

“As a child pushed into an impossible position by the adults around you.” Potter shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe he had to explain this. “It’s like handing a child a one hundred pound vase, and then getting angry when they drop it. I _know_ Dumbledore knew what Voldemort was making you do and that he didn’t lift a finger to help. Things can get complicated during a war, but you don’t let children take the brunt of that if you can in any way prevent it. And I know how shitty it is when it happens anyway, but at least I got help when you didn’t. And I don’t think that’s fair.”

Draco blinked again, and then he did it some more until his eyes stopped sweating. Because he was _not_ crying, thank you very much. 

“Doesn’t mean you weren’t a class A prick though, or that you’re completely blameless.” Potter chuckled at the thought. “It just means that you deserve a fair second chance. But you never got one, and now you’re alone during Christmas, coming into my coffee shop looking like absolute death and that’s not your fault. That’s all I’m saying. I wouldn’t want you to think that you’re alone because of _you_. I grew up thinking that and it feels horrible.”

That last line raised a million questions for Draco, but he felt a bit too overwhelmed to say anything at the moment. He just gaped at Potter some more before taking a sip of his coffee. Despite it having gone tepid, it still tasted amazing. 

“Enjoying the coffee enough to tolerate my face?” Potter joked. 

Draco was confused for a second, until he remembered his snide comment from their last meeting. He blushed again. 

“Yes. And I’m sorry about that.”

“I’m sorry about going all therapist mode on you. I have a lot of feelings on the subject, apparently.” Potter joined him in blushing and stared at the table between them, biting his bottom lip. “If it’s any consolation, I surprised myself too with that tirade. I don’t usually… _talk_ about those kinds of things.”

Draco let out an awkward chuckle. “How very Gryffindor of you.”

“Says the Slytherin who built himself an ice castle and locked the rest of the world out of it.” 

Draco shot Potter a sharp look. “Are you comparing me to Elsa?”

Potter laughed in surprise. “You watched _Frozen_? Damn, you really are full of surprises.”

“Of course I watched _Frozen_. I’m lonely, not barbaric,” Draco huffed, struggling to keep a straight face. Oh, if only eleven year old Draco could see him now. It might have saved him a world of hurt, although it would have ripped his family apart much sooner. “And before you ask, no, I do not want to build a snowman with you.”

“Rude,” Potter scoffed. “I bet I can build a much better snowman than you anyway.”

“I highly doubt that, Potter.” 

“Well then, there’s only one solution to that.”

Draco arched his eyebrow. “Admit defeat?”

“No,” a conspiratory smile crept onto Potter’s face. “Join me for Christmas dinner and try it out. It’s a small affair, just me, Ron, ‘Mione, Luna, Ginny, and Nev. I promise no one will bite your head off.”

Draco knew why Potter was reassuring him already. Indeed, his first instinct was to say no. He didn’t want his pity invitation. Plus, he only occasionally saw Luna, and the rest had no reason to like him. Well, they might have one annoying, green-eyed, messy haired reason, but Draco didn’t even know why Potter was being nice to him. It felt odd given that Draco struggled to even be nice to himself sometimes. 

“Alright,” his mouth replied before his head had made up its mind. Nerves immediately pooled in his stomach, but they were squashed down by the genuinely delighted look he received from Potter. “But _only_ to show you how to build a proper snowman. You can’t be an expert on hot beverages and cold men at the same time, I refuse to believe it.”

Potter’s eyes shone with mirth. “Oh, but I think I can be both, _Draco_. You just wait and see.”


End file.
